Chapter 2

“Okay, so I’m really drunk.” A tall blond girl came up to me and dragged her equally soused boyfriend with her. “But you’re like that proposal planner, right?”

“Yes,” I said. It was nearly the end of the reception and I sat two tables back from the dance floor where only a few die-hards slow danced.

“Cool,” the blonde said, and grabbed a chair to sit extremely close to me. “This is Brad Hurst and I’m Jennifer McCutchen.”

“Hi, Brad,” I said with a small wave. I wasn’t about to mention how weird it was for a couple to be Jennifer and Brad given a certain celebrity couple who had broken up while I was in junior high.

“Hi,” Brad said, and grinned down at me. He had a highball glass in his hand. His tux was undone. His suit coat was on a chair somewhere, I imagined. The shirtsleeves were rolled up, and his bow tie was untied and wrapped causally around his neck. He had brown eyes and well-styled shoulder-length hair. He flashed perfectly straight white teeth.

“So, Brad wants to use your services,” Jennifer said, and leaned tipsily toward me. Her breath was a cloud of alcohol vapor.

“He does?” I asked, and crossed my arms.

“I do,” Brad said, and gave a short nod. “Jen says so.” He waved at the blonde.

“Okay,” I said, and looked confused. “Why do you say so, Jennifer? Does he want to propose to a friend of yours?”

“Oh, no, silly,” Jennifer said, and slapped my knee. Her martini glass with pink liquid sloshed and threatened to spill on my dress. I moved a few inches back. “He wants to propose to me, but I keep ruining it. I always find out, you see. Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

Brad merely motioned with a dip of his head and a swirl of his hand that she was right. He sipped his drink and I sighed.

“Okay, so how is engaging my services going to help not ruin the surprise?” I had to ask. The whole thing was a bit crazy. Especially with the state Jennifer was in.

“Oh, that’s the great part. If anyone can surprise me, it’s you,” she said, and tossed down the remains of her drink. “You see, I want a really grand proposal with all the bells and whistles. Isn’t that right, Brad?” She looked at Brad who just nodded. “I heard you were like the best at this engagement planning thing.”

“You did?” I asked. “That’s nice. Who referred you?”

“Well, you set up Warren and Felicity, right?”

“Yes, I did.”

“They were engaged on a jet, right? There were lots of mementos and great decorations and such. Then you did that sparkly mermaid one, right?” Jennifer wobbled a little. “Now you’re going to do something completely over the top for me. Right? And you can make it a complete surprise. Right?”

“Certainly,” I said, and shook my head because I knew I was most likely lying. She was drunk and probably wouldn’t even remember talking to me in the morning.

“Good. Brad, give the lady your card.” Jennifer motioned for Brad to hurry up.

The gentleman dug a wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out a beautiful linen embossed card and handed it to me. “Call me on Tuesday.”

“Okay,” I said, and took the card, trying not to read it. I slipped it into my clutch. “Anything I should know to start planning?”

“Oh, yes,” Jennifer said, and leaned toward me. “I want Brad to propose in the most romantic way with all sorts of bells and whistles. I want it to be over the top.” She leaned back and waved her arm over her head. “And I want the entire thing videotaped. I want to be a YouTube sensation and the envy of all my friends. I want tears in my eyes.”

“Okay,” I said, and tried not to shake my head. “What sorts of things do you find romantic?”

“The normal stuff, you know, like candles and roses and playing our song on a big boom box and ice skating . . . yes, ice skating like in that movie, with flowers raining down on us.”

“Um, okay,” I said, and glanced at Brad, who merely grinned at me and winked.

“Here’s the thing, though,” Jennifer said. “I have to be completely surprised. I can’t suspect in the least what you are about to do.”

“What?”

“Yes, I have to be completely surprised or the whole thing is off.” Jennifer sat back and flopped her left hand on her lap and waved her right hand holding the empty martini glass. “If I’m not surprised, the whole thing is off.”

“What?”

“Brad has tried four times? Was it four or five?” she asked him.

“Six, actually,” he said, and leaned against the chair. “She figured me out each time.”

“That’s why we need you,” Jennifer said, and turned toward me. “I want to be surprised and Brad hasn’t been able to pull that off. It’s my biggest wish—to be surprised. So, no surprise, no engagement.” She tilted her head and studied me. “Understood?”

“Okay,” I said, and looked from one to the other. They were completely serious. “You have to be surprised even though you are hiring me to plan your proposal and will be watching every moment waiting for it to happen.”

“Yes,” Jennifer said, with a nod and a smile. “If I figure it out, I’ll tell you to try again.” She crossed her arms. “And you will.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“I’ll pay you double,” Brad said. “Come on. Think of the word of mouth you can get for your business if you can pull this off.”

I scratched my head. “Okay.”

“Perfect.” Jennifer held out her hand toward Brad. “Come on, dear, I’m tired. It’s time we went home.”

“Yes, dear,” Brad said, and took her hand, helping her up. They left their drinks on the table beside me. “Call me on Tuesday.”

“I will,” I said. I watched them walk out to get their coats and noticed there were a few die-hards still dancing. I glanced over to see Ashley back at the bar and went over to talk to her some more.

“Hello, there, my proposal-planning friend,” she said with a wane smile. “You and I seem to be the only two non–country club types left. Does that make us social heavies and not socialites?” She laughed, her chuckle deep and thick like a heavy smoker.

I looked around. “Huh, I think you’re right. We are the only two women left who might actually work for a living. Does that happen often?”

“Yes, actually,” she replied, suddenly sober. “When you have to work you usually go to bed earlier and try to get some rest. Socialites stay at parties because that’s how they work. Networking for family and friends. For them it’s all about who they know, not what they do.”

“That’s an interesting observation,” I said, and put my elbows on the bar. “Lucky for me tomorrow is my day off.”

“Cool,” she said. “Do you want me to mix you up another exotic cocktail?”

“Sure,” I said. “I can’t promise I’ll drink it all.”

“The drinks are already paid for,” she explained. “You might as well use the free booze to expand your cocktail knowledge. You like the fifties, right?”

“Yes, I’m thinking it might be a cute theme for a proposal, especially with all the midcentury modern architecture in the area.”

“Well, then, let me make you a classic martini.” She poured gin and vermouth into a shaker and added ice. Then she shook it and poured it through a drink strainer into a martini glass. “This is a gin martini. Classically served with olives or cocktail onions.” She pushed the drink toward me.

I took a sip. “Strong,” I said.

She chuckled. “Lounge music and cocktail hour became popular in the fifties as a way to relax. The world had just come out of the war and a strong drink in hand was thought to be cool.”

“Cool meaning drunk?” I teased.

She took the drink from where I put it on the bar and tossed down a good half. I made a sound in protest and she shrugged. “Night’s almost over. Don’t worry, I’m taking the bus home. I don’t own a car. Now, also popular in the 1950s and something great to serve at a proposal party is the champagne cocktail.” She pulled out a champagne glass. “You take a sugar cube and drop some bitters on it.” She held the cube between her fingers and carefully placed four drops of bitters on top. “Then you put it in the bottom of a champagne glass like so.” She dropped the cube into the glass. “Then you cover that with cognac.”

“Oh, that’s going to be very sweet,” I observed.

“That’s why you include the bitters,” she said, and winked at me. She poured the cognac until it covered the sugar cube and put the liquor bottle down. “Finish it off with champagne.” She pulled out an open bottle and looked at the label. “This is a very good year,” she teased, and then poured the champagne into the glass so carefully that the cognac didn’t mix, but remained in the bottom of the glass. “And there you have it.” She put the champagne bottle down and pushed the glass toward me. “Go on, try it.”

“Cheers,” I said, and toasted her with the glass before I took a long swig. I got mostly champagne with a touch of cognac. The sugar cube had just started to dissolve at the bottom as I set the glass down. “I think that’s more for show than for drinking.”

“It’s clearly a dessert,” she said.

I noticed that she was weaving a bit and clung to the bar for a moment.

“Are you all right?” I asked. “Is it your headache? Maybe you shouldn’t be drinking.”

“I haven’t had that much,” she said. “It’s this darn headache. I can’t shake it.”

“Thank you for teaching me about cocktails,” I said. “I really appreciate it. Especially since you aren’t feeling well.”

She waved off my comment. “I consider you a friend now. Anytime you want more information, just give me a call.” We exchange cards so that we had each other’s names and phone numbers. “I’m always up for work. I could use the money.”

“Got it,” I said, and put the card in my purse. “Maybe you should have some coffee. The caffeine is good for a headache.”

“You’re right,” she said. “Can I pour you a cup?”

“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m going to make a trip to the ladies’ room.” I stepped away and then turned back. Ashley was pouring coffee into a white mug. “Listen . . .”

She looked up.

“I feel like we really bonded. Do you want to meet for lunch or dinner sometime? On me? One hardworking woman to another?”

Her smile was genuine. “I’d like that.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ve got your number. Don’t forget, my name is—”

“Pepper,” she said. “I never forget a friend. Besides, you gave me your card, remember?”

“Oh, right.” I felt a blush rush over my face. “Sorry if I’m a little heavy-handed on the networking.”

“No worries,” she said and sipped her coffee. “You’re doing all right.”

“Thanks. You are, too.” I walked to the ladies’ room thinking what a great night it had been. Felicity looked so happy when she and Warren left, I’d seen some relatives I hadn’t talked to in years, and I’d made a new friend. It didn’t get much better than that. My phone buzzed and I looked down. Gage texted me back sending love and warm thoughts. I smiled.

As I stepped out of the restroom, the lights went up and the DJ turned off the last song.

“Hey, Pepper, we’re going into town to do some club hopping. Want to come?” Whitney asked. She and Kelli came over to where I sat. I noticed that the guys had gone to get their coats.

“No, I think I’ve had enough partying for tonight,” I said with a smile and stood. “You go without me.”

“But we were your ride,” Kelli said with a faint scowl.

“No worries, I’ll catch a cab,” I said. “Besides, you guys live in the city. I live in the suburbs. It’s best I get a cab anyway.”

“Are you sure?” George asked as he helped Kelli into her coat.

“I’m sure,” I said.

Someone screamed. We all turned to the sound as one of the waitresses stumbled out from the back kitchen. She looked very pale and her expression was one of horror. Before I knew what I was doing, I was running toward her. “What’s wrong?” I asked, and touched her. She didn’t really see me. I think she was in shock.

“It’s that bartender . . .” the waitress said, and pointed.

That’s when I saw Ashley in the hall leading to the back kitchen, crumpled on the floor. I raced to her. She was too pale. I felt for a pulse and didn’t find one. Leaning down, I listened for breathing. She wasn’t. “Someone call 911,” I shouted. I hit her chest and started CPR. Thankfully I was certified a few months earlier. When your adrenaline is going and you’re actually working on a real person, it’s very different than the dummy. I tried to remember to hinge from the hips and use the heels of my hands. I was so worried I was breaking her ribs. She was so small and so thin. But the voice of my instructor kept ringing through my head. Push hard!

Ashley remained pale. People gathered around. George pushed through the crowd with a plastic kit in his hands. He knelt down and felt for a pulse.

“She wasn’t breathing,” I said as I counted out pulses.

“She’s still not,” he said, and sat back on his heels. He tore open the kit and pulled out a face mask with a rubber bag attached. “I’m going to try to push air into her lungs in between your counts.”

I nodded. He put the mask over her nose and mouth and squeezed two breaths. Then I continued with compressions.

After what seemed like an hour the EMTs showed up. “You can stop now,” a blond EMT said as he maneuvered in beside me. I raised my hands in the air and then scooted out of the way as they took her vital signs.

“No response,” I heard the blond guy say.

There were two other guys in full gear. A guy with brown hair and blue eyes took over from George while a guy with black hair broke out a defibrillator.

I was startled by a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, you’ve done what you could.” It was Whitney. Her face was pale and her eyes large. I let her help me up and away from the men working.

“Here,” George said as he put his coat around my shoulders. “You’re shivering.”

Whitney and Kelli helped me over to a chair out of sight of the men at work. The lights were all up full blast in the hall and the remaining people gathered in little clumps talking in hushed tones.

“I was just talking to her,” I said. Tears flowed down my cheeks and I wiped them away. “She seemed like a nice person. You know?”

“Here.” Kelli brought me a handful of tissues. “It’s okay.”

“The police are here,” George said. “Thank goodness Warren and Felicity are long gone. What a bummer to learn someone died at your reception.”

“She died?” I looked up at George.

His mouth tightened and he looked away.

“I just heard the EMTs say they couldn’t revive her,” Kelli said. She looked tired under the bright lights. I imagine we all looked a little worse for wear. “You did the best you could, Pepper. The best anyone could do.”

“The police want to talk to everyone before we can leave,” Carlton said. His expression appeared tired, his mouth a tight line. “You girls might as well take your coats off. We could be here awhile.”

Whitney and Kelli took off their coats and put them on the backs of chairs. George went in search of bottled water. I wiped my eyes but couldn’t stop the tears. “I feel terrible. She seemed so nice,” I said to Whitney. Then I remembered her headaches. “You know, she did say she was having headaches. I wonder if she had an aneurysm or something.”

“If that’s the case there’s nothing you could have done,” Whitney said, and patted my shoulder.

A nearby group of people talked in low tones about how horrible it was. I noticed that Clark and an older woman were the first ones to the police when the cops turned to the crowd. “It’s too bad about that girl,” I heard the woman say. “But you can’t keep us here.” She had her hands on Clark’s shoulders. “My husband Douglas is outside in the car waiting. We didn’t see anything.”

“Who is that woman?” I asked Whitney. “I think I’ve met her. Is she one of your invitees?” I drew my eyebrows together.

“Oh, that’s Mrs. Fulcrum. She and her husband Douglas have been benefactors to my mother’s pet nonprofit project for years. They are huge in the country club set.”

“That’s her son, Clark?”

“Yes,” Whitney said, with a shake of her head. “That boy is trouble. He’s one of those who just slides by because his parents have money and he thinks he doesn’t have to do anything.” Whitney sighed. “The worst part is that his mother lets him. You know? I mean, we have money but my parents made sure that we knew how to be responsible adults.”

“He tried to get Ashley to serve him a martini and she refused.”

“Good for her,” Whitney said. “My mom likes the Fulcrums, but frankly I think they’re a little too high and mighty. And I completely disagree with any parent who lets their kids coast through life. A parent should never spend more time covering for their child than parenting them.”

I nodded my agreement. “My parents believed in consequences. It wasn’t always fun but it helped me understand the world better.”

I noticed how Clark had a smirk on his face, as if seeing Ashley dead was just another game. He had his hands in his pockets and craned his neck to see around the first responders. Mrs. Fulcrum wore her fur coat and kept her hands on her son’s shoulders. I could no longer hear what she was saying, but it was pretty clear she was giving the police the business about being held up from leaving.

With a calm expression on his face, one officer took notes and then let Mrs. Fulcrum and Clark leave. The next ones in line were Samantha Lyn and her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Thomson. They also seemed to be in a big hurry to leave. Mrs. Thomson looked impatient, as if she wanted to leave with the Fulcrums and the short delay to ask questions was putting her and her family out.

“That girl, I think her name is Samantha Lyn,” I said and nodded toward them. “She’s dating Clark, right?”

“Yes,” Whitney said with a shake of her head. “They are so young. I sometimes see them hanging out at the club with their moms. Not that I hang around with their moms, but we attend a lot of the same functions. You know, fund-raisers, luncheons, golf and tennis tournaments, that sort of thing.”

“Sure,” I said, completely out of my element but willing to trust Whitney on the subject.

“Samantha Lyn is such a nice girl. Clark, on the other hand, is a piece of work. He’s been known to treat the staff poorly. I’ve seen him spill things on purpose just to make a staff member get down and clean it up. Talk about a bad kid. One time he even hit on me. As if I would ever think about doing anything with a kid ten years younger than me. None of us knows what she’s doing with Clark.”

“Except her mom, Mrs. Thomson, is an obvious social climber and doesn’t care who knows it. That woman is over the moon that a Fulcrum is dating her daughter,” Kelli said. “It’s crazy in this day and age to be proud that your daughter is dating someone from a certain family. I mean, shouldn’t she be proud her daughter is majoring in economics? Poor Samantha Lyn, her entire identity’s wrapped up in who she’s dating.”

“Like I said, she’s young. Everything your parents say or do is so important at that age. Some kids want to do nothing but please their folks, while others rebel and do everything to upset them,” Whitney said. “Samantha Lyn seems smart. I’m sure she’ll figure it out.”

Next up for questioning were Brad and Jen. It was clear that Jen was too tipsy to know what was really going on. Brad sort of held her upright with an apologetic look on his face. The police officers in charge let them through without a second glance. The hall cleared out steadily as there were only about twenty or so people left at the end of the reception.

“I’m so sorry.” Donna, the wedding planner, rushed over to me and Whitney. “I told them not to keep the guests any longer than necessary. Please, go next. The waitstaff will be questioned last. I will see to the cleanup and such. I promise. It’s part of my duties.”

“As an event planner, I know there was nothing you did to cause this,” I said, and patted her hand.

“I certainly hope this doesn’t affect your review of my services,” she said, and chewed on her bottom lip.

“We’ll ensure you’re reviewed on your work, not this incident,” Whitney said, and patted the poor woman’s shoulder.

I stood when it was our turn and gave George back his coat.

“You were the one giving the victim CPR,” the policeman said as we approached the area where they were doing the interviews.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m Pepper Pomeroy. This was my sister’s wedding reception.”

The cop looked around. “Are you part of the family who hired her?”

“No,” I said, and shook my head. “My family and the Evanses hired a wedding planner.” I pointed to where Donna stood talking to the country club’s catering manager. “Donna took care of all the details.”

“So you didn’t know the deceased,” he said as he looked up from his notes.

“I just met her tonight,” I said with a sigh. “She seemed like a nice person.”

“You spoke to her?”

“Yes,” I said, and drew my eyebrows together. “I did spend some time with her after my sister left.”

“Don’t you think it’s odd for the maid of honor to spend time with a bartender at a wedding?”

I shrugged and gave a small smile. “I’m a proposal planner and she was making these interesting cocktails.”

“So you were talking shop.”

“Yes,” I said, and nodded. Carlton came over and handed me my coat. “Thanks,” I said as I took the coat and folded it over my arm.

“Is everything okay?” he asked me. Carlton had his arm protectively around Whitney’s waist.

“This will only take another minute,” the police officer said to Carlton. Carlton and Whitney took a step back. “Now, you were telling me that you talked about cocktails with the bartender.”

“Yes,” I said, and blew out a long breath. At least the tears had stopped flowing. I could imagine how red and splotchy my face was. There were makeup and mascara stains on the tissue in my hand.

“How did she seem?” he asked.

“She seemed fine. I was asking her about different cocktail ideas I thought I might be able to use for one of my events.”

“So she didn’t seem drunk or disorderly?”

“No,” I said, and shook my head. I remembered her sharing some of my drinks and weaving. “Wait, she did take some sips of alcohol,” I said, “but not enough to make her pass out or quit breathing. We just spoke for a while and then she was having coffee.”

“Did she say anything to you that might cause you to suspect she would end up dead?”

“That’s a strange question,” I said. “What do you mean?”

“Did she seem at all suicidal? Or scared someone here would hurt her?”

“What? No,” I said with an emphatic shake of my head. “I would have done something if she seemed suicidal. I wouldn’t let something like that slip.” I paused. “Although she did say she had a terrible headache all night. She seemed to think it had something to do with an old injury to her head.”

“I see.” The police officer gave me his card. “Listen, if you think of anything else, give me a call.”

“Okay,” I said, and let Kelli and Whitney pull me toward the door where George waited. I glanced over to see the police talking with the paramedics. I had the terrible feeling that there was something they weren’t telling us.

“I’ve called you a cab,” George said, and helped me into my coat. “We’re going to head home.”

“Yeah,” Whitney said. “I think we’ve all had enough excitement for one day. Let’s just hope that Warren and Felicity don’t hear about this until they come back from their honeymoon.”

I felt my eyes widen. “Oh, I certainly hope so. I’d hate for them to not go on their trip.”

“Don’t worry,” George said. “Their flight leaves pretty early tomorrow morning. As long as they don’t listen to the news, they’ll be fine.”

“I doubt there is anything much to report,” Carlton said. “Besides that a woman collapsed and died at the country club.”

“Gosh, I hope they don’t say it like that,” I said. “I’d hate for Felicity to worry.”

“I’m sure Warren and Felicity will be too busy to listen to the news,” Whitney said. “I know I’d be.” She looked at Carlton, who smiled at her knowingly.

We stepped out into the cold clear air and George opened the door to the taxi. “Text Whitney when you get home safe, okay?”

“Okay,” I said as I got into the cab. George closed the door and I waved as the cab pulled out toward my home. I pulled out my phone and thought about texting Gage but it was really late and I didn’t want to wake him. Besides, I figured you shouldn’t talk about something as horrible as death in something as playful as texts. I put my phone away. It would keep until I saw him the next day.